


Aftermath

by Outerprise



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:15:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Outerprise/pseuds/Outerprise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Depicts events after Super Dangan Ronpa 2, and the physical and emotional recovery of the students.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

The first thing Hinata saw when he woke up was a pair of big brown eyes staring intently from above. He recognized the figure, the spiky brown hair, but the memory was fuzzy, merely a small spark of familiarity amongst the confusion that shook his brain.

Above him bright lights glared in a dark room, and, gasping for air, there was no time to think, to understand what was going on. Thoughts churned slowly as drugs wore off, and hands grabbed at his arms, his back, urging him upward. The brown-haired boy’s lips moved as though speaking, but all Hinata could hear was a ringing in his ears and the sound of his own heartbeat, loud, fast, unsteady like the spinning world around him.

He felt sticky, and something like cobwebs seemed to cling to his body as he sat up, shaky, sweaty, weak, lacking the energy to shake it off. He turned his head, slightly, tried to find a familiar face, a landmark, but his vision was still blurred, blending the room together. He felt alone, lost, and panic rose in his throat as he tried to stand up. A wave of dizziness washed over him as he placed a foot to the floor, and he stumbled, legs weak, into the arms of some faceless nurse. Pushing away and stumbling again, the last thing he saw before blacking out was the worried face of the brown-eyed boy.

\--  
When he awoke again, natural light met him, blinding and bright, reflecting off a white-painted ceiling. A steady beeping sound echoed off the walls, and he turned his head slightly, trying to take in the scene. Where was he? A hospital? Given the various tubes and wires attached to his arms, it seemed so. What happened? He couldn’t remember. Memories were painful and vague, unreachable. He recalled blood, death, despair, snippets of emotions, but clawing through his mind felt like walking through a fog. His brain was still slow, still affected by whatever drugs this hospital had him on.

He laid still and time passed uncounted. He took in the room, the white walls and sickeningly cleanliness of it all. A small bathroom, a wooden dresser, sunlight shining in from the window, moving slowly with the passage of time. A lot of empty space. He drifted in and out of sleep.

When the door finally creaked open, a nurse entered. Hinata didn’t know the man, and stared silently as he entered the room.

“Y-you’re awake.” The nurse stated, voice timid, and walked over to the bed. He messed with the tubes and wires, adjusting the IV, pressing buttons. He didn’t look Hinata in the eye, not once, and his face showed traces of what seemed almost like fear. Why would he be afraid?

“Why am I here?” He asked, voice coarser than he’d intended, weak from lack of use. The nurse didn’t respond.

“Where am I?’ He tried again, voice stronger, more panick-flled this time. No response again, and anger, confusion rose in his throat. “Please.” He cried, attempting to push himself up with weak arms. He pulled into a sitting position, feeling weighed down, powerless, and froze.

As he rose, long strands of hair swung in front of his head, greasy and white, blocking his vision like a cape. His breath stopped, and the beeping on the machine next to him sped up, keeping count with his racing heart.

When had his hair gotten so long?

He turned to towards the nurse, confusion striking him, but the man had already escaped the room. Memories came back like a flood, all at once, incoherent and painful. His friends’ dead bodies, bloody and broken, crumbled on the ground. The looks of madness in their eyes as they confessed to murder. The way that world, that fake, digital world had fallen apart around him as the five survivors stood and watched, helpless.

…Were his friends okay?

It was like the memories were too much for his brain all at once, and they flashed incoherently, nonsensical. No one thought lasted more than a second, searing into his memory before moving on. He rolled onto his side and cried out, despair ripping from his throat, a gargling, ugly sound. Tears leaked from his eyes, quietly, as if all the moments he refused to cry on the island were all pushed together into this sobbing mess, crumbled helpless on the white sheets. He felt more empty than he had felt in a long time.

Hinata didn’t know how long he laid there, but it didn’t really matter, did it? He didn’t know where he was, why he was here, what Future Foundation was going to do with him. Would they kill him? Keep him captive the rest of his life? He could tell himself that was too extreme, too cruel, but the long white hair hung in his face taunting him, and he knew that whatever happened to him, it was probably justified.

He needed to see himself, his reflection. He needed to see how much of Hinata was still left in his face, his eyes and expression. He needed confirmation of who he was and who he wasn’t and as he touched a foot to the floor he panicked, fearing that Hinata may not even be in that face anymore. He used the equipment, the IV, to balance, taking slow steady steps toward the bathroom. He knew he shouldn’t be walking by himself, that he was still weak, but for some reason it didn’t stop him. And when he finally stepped foot on the cold tile of the bathroom, chills ran down his back, his legs, his fingertips, and his body went cold.

Izuru Kamakura stared back at him in the mirror.

Except not really. The boy that stared back didn’t look like Kamakura or Hinata, but some hybrid, frail and bony. His eyes stuck out the most, crimson and striking, Kamakura’s eyes. They were tired, too. Hollow-looking, with dark circles smudged underneath. And he was skinny, too skinny, his face looking like it would cave in on itself and arms that flopped uselessly at his side. He’d expected the hair, the long white strands that weighed his head down and covered his face. He’d expected it, but he still felt vile in his throat at the sight. Disgusting.

And what next? He stood there, in front of the mirror, body heavy, still attached to the IV he rolled along with him, and realized he had no idea what to do. In the short run, stuck in this make-shift hospital, barely able to walk, and in the long run, because Hope’s Peak didn’t exist anymore, and where could he possibly go?

Right now, he needed to cut his hair.

He rummaged through the drawers slowly, content just to have a single goal in mind amongst the confusion and pain. They were all empty or locked, save a small book in a language he couldn’t read. He bet Sonia would be able to understand it, wherever she was. And, where was she? And the others? The victims?

The culprits?

He tried to push it out of his mind. Their faces, the screams and the manic laughter. Komaeda. He just, he didn’t need to think about it. Not yet.

A sound from behind ripped him from those thoughts. The door opened again, and he whipped his head around. In the doorway stood a boy, the brown haired boy from when he first woke up, the one who came into that digital world to save him.

“Hello, Hinata.” He said, voice polite, friendly. “I’m Naegi Makoto.”


End file.
